kaleidoscope
by PerfectPerception
Summary: Don't wake up this time, sweetheart, you're already in a nightmare. — One-sided MileyOliver/M&M on Miley's part.


**Notes:** Written to correspond with my earlier posted story _Transcendent_ in Miley's POV and to explore the possible (but not confirmed) relationship between Mitchel and Shawn whom I personally adore and approve of 100% if those two if they were to actually go out (sorry M&M fans!)/or Oliver and Lilly's established relationship on the show—go figure both of the girls are blondes. But view it whichever way you want. And, also, because this story follows Miley instead, names won't be mentioned to keep it legal. I'm positive that you'll know who '_he_' refers to. coughOliver/Mitchelcough**  
**

The last of this month's thin air fills your lungs and you want to choke.

You're standing next to a door you haven't knocked on in ages, with your vision set on the inside of the home that you pray still smells like home-cooked meals and vanilla—how it used to smell—but you're not sure; after all, you haven't set foot in there for a long, long time. And, for the first time in your life, you find yourself waiting on a boy that you don't even know will return home tonight and all you can do is stand here and hope he does.

As a warm breeze rushes past you and tangles your hair against the stretched sky, you think back to the previous months. To your disappointment, they're filled with mistakes all on your behalf and severed ties you decided to unravel first. You feel ashamed and you wonder if _he_ ever felt ashamed to be associated with you. You think you know the answer but you're too terrified to admit it.

_Please be wrong. Please be wrong. Please be wrong_.

Your eyes then drift to the nearby palm trees with their glittering branches, squinting at the piercing sunlight that's filtered between the dark green blades. They look sort of out of place, you always thought. Palm trees were meant to exist amidst tropical, deserted beaches with ivory waves echoing across the empty sands; not in California's city-like atmosphere with a million and one inhabitants that worry too much about the clothes they're wearing to the brand of hair products they use. Sometimes, you feel a little out of place—much like palm trees actually appear. But, to your slight disgust, you actually _look_ apart of the community. If you just shut your mouth and clipped out that Southern accent of yours, you belonged because of your greed-ridden accessories and shiny cars.

Your thoughts are suddenly put on pause and you inhale another astringent breath.

Wait. When did _you_ of all people become this self-loathing monster?

It probably started with _him_. (And that isn't meant to be out of bitterness. You don't ever think, even if you tried really hard until every bone in your body trembled and every fiber stretched to their breaking point, that you could harbor any bitterness or just downright hate for him. Never.)

--

He always made you feel a lot less like an unreachable popstar and more like yourself. That's what first set him apart from everyone else in your mind.

He gave you more credit than you'd ever be worth and now you two hardly speak. He called you the most selfless person he's ever met, and you simply gave him a smile and then went on to call who you once heard him mumble under his breath as '_Golden Boy_' (it sorta has a certain ring to it, and you admittedly like the ill-intended nickname). He never let you down; never disappointed you. He went along with your silly thought up schemes and lent you a shoulder to catch all your tears and gave words to soothe all the bruises and cracks on your heart. You think that he might have liked you, maybe even loved you. The signs were all there and quite alarming from the very beginning but you were so, so terribly blind.

And now you're just simply blinded by the tears filling your eyes.

But you shouldn't cry now because this is _your_ fault after all. You could've realized how perfect he was the last time you sat your father down and sobbed your heart out when the supposed 'boy of your dreams' simply created another nightmare for you. He was right there with you too, you know. Because no matter how hard you made yourself pretend that you were okay; that you didn't care the least bit, you never fooled him. No matter what you did or what words you tried to convince him otherwise, he always knew better but never told a soul.

So eventually you forgot about him; buried him away with your handsome, charismatic new boyfriend with perfect tussled hair and winning smile, and shopping sprees, and new outbursts that created backlash and chaos. You were so caught up in yourself you allowed him to become caught up with someone _else_.

She's this pretty little blonde thing, petite and polite and you think she's great—but nearly as much as he does. In fact, you think she's the absolute perfect match for him.

You barely see the two of them anymore, though. With your constant touring and promoting, it's a little more than difficult to keep in contact. Well, okay, that's a half-life. It _is_ a little more than difficult to keep in contact but you can if you want to. You just simply refuse to.

Not that he misses you or anything. He'll send you text messages on occasion, on certain dates that always meant something to you, and she will too because she's this sickeningly perfect role model and girl that reflects all the right morals and all the right standards. You can't just hate her in peace. She really still wants to be your friend, she really does, and she doesn't think you two ever stopped _being_ friends or connected somewhat, but you really don't want anything to do with either of them. However, you never tell them; not because you have a heart but because '_Golden Boy_' took what was left of it.

They'll understand soon enough, though. Or, maybe, just she will. Because you still want him, and you still want to hear his voice and his stupid raps and his comforting words and feel his hugs and warm breath on your neck and smile against your hair.

All you want is your best friend back.

All you want is _him_.

But all you've got is yourself.

--

It's around eleven when he eventually rolls up the driveway in his silver car. You've waited for hours and he gives you a perplexed glance before climbing out of his car.

He approaches you with ease and you feel your shoulders move slightly forward as you lower your head and cower. You don't want him to smile at you anymore and, if he does, you at least don't want to see it. He had these specific smiles that were once reserved only for you but you can tell they've been used for her too. And the more and more he shares them with her, the less and less he means them with you.

"Miley," he greets in a partly confused but welcoming tone. "Didn't expect you to visit me without calling. What's up?" He pauses for a moment and studies your face until his smile drops and his eyes round. "Miley?"

You blink and you still fail to respond.

"Miley…" concern rumbles through his throat and spills over his words in heavy pools and you selfishly think there's a tiny, flickering chance of hope for you still. "Miley, why are you… why are you crying?"

There's a shiver riding up your spine as you realize his lips are inches away from your ear, while he offers you a hug, and his voice drops to a whisper. Suddenly you want to cry as you think that _this_ is a perfect fit. There's little explanation or reason to why you know that. You two just… _fit_ one another.

Instead a whimper escapes you and he pulls you closer. "Miley," he says again and your head swims, "please tell me what's wrong."

"I… miss you," you croak with little eloquence or thought. He smiles softly.

_Don_'_t look. Don_'_t look._

But you do.

And his smile breaks your heart because it looks recycled and worn and_ just not yours anymore_.

"Then you should call me sometime," he laughs.

You peer upwards and frown from weighted guilt. "You're not mad at me for not talking to you?"

"Of course not. You've got all these responsibilities with your fans, I'd be surprised if you actually had some free time." he shrugs. "Anyways, how long have you been here? You should stay if you can. We haven't hung out with each other in awhile."

You strain your ears because you think you hear a slight constriction to his voice, but the waver dissipates as quickly as it appears and you suddenly find yourself sitting on his living room's couch with him while his annoying brother bounces in an armchair inches away. You're all watching an old _X-Men_ movie, one of the very first to the long line of sequels and prequels, and you hear yourself talking and talking and talking to him because you miss him so painfully much.

It's getting late and your eyelids are fluttering shut and he's smiling and laughing at your sheepish state, kissing you on the cheek like old times and ignores the piercing, accusing glance his brother spares him. Slowly but surely, slumber seduces you away from your old best friend and the excruciatingly thoughts of losing your old best friend with his tangible fingers gliding through your wind-kissed hair.

And when you sleep eventually, you see palm trees on deserted islands and yourself back in Tennessee and then you see him with that pretty blonde and you wonder why you feel your heart breaking if Golden Boy already has it (**maybe Golden Boy never did**).

"I love you," he says to her beaming face and you can't decipher whether this is a nightmare or simply harsh reality. You don't know but you keep telling yourself not to wake.

_Not this time. Not this time.__  
_

_Don't wake up this time, sweetheart, you're already in a nightmare._

* * *

-Wow, I never meant for this story to pan out this way or be this long. Miley's new boyfriend can be viewed as the boy she ends up with in her released movie or Justin and the blonde referred to as Oliver/Mitchel's girlfriend can either be Lilly or Shawn. Feedback would be awesome. w00t!


End file.
